


Near-life experiences

by pullmydeviltrigger



Category: Fight Club (1999), Fight Club - Chuck Palahniuk
Genre: Anal Sex, Car Sex, Consensual, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Dialogue Heavy, Dom/sub Undertones, Edging, Fingering, I’m gonna tag it as masturbation, M/M, Masturbation, PWP, Rough Sex, Violence, but a lot more movie based, but it may be wishful thinking, dub-con elements but not really, i guess, i like to think this gets better the further on you read, is this just masturbation?, kind of referencing the book, no beta we die like men, not choking but there’s a lil bit of pre-sex choking, shameless quoting from the movie, uncharacteristically often swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 08:40:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17577551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pullmydeviltrigger/pseuds/pullmydeviltrigger
Summary: It’s airline policy not to imply ownership in the event of a dildo. Use the indefinite article.A dildo.Never your dildo.





	Near-life experiences

**Author's Note:**

> Twenty years later, this film will always be amazing and fic-worthy, rarepair or not. Set right after Jack beats the fuck out of Angel face.

I am Jack’s inflamed sense of rejection.

I wanted to breathe smoke.

“Where’d you go, psycho boy?” He says it like he owns it-owns me-owns the psycho boy for his own entertainment.

I felt like destroying something beautiful.

"Get him to a fucking hospital."  _Fuck you, fuck the hospital, fuck off._

After you mister Durden. I wanted to spit on his face at the hypocrisy of all this bullshit.

“Something on your mind dear?” I wanted to eject his mindless little slaves from the back seat, they didn’t deserve to be here, to be with us.

Don’t call me that-why wasn’t I told about project mayhem? I demand, because how much of an ass do you have to be to have the oversight of forgetting to tell…whatever we were to each other. We started fight club together. He asks me if this is about you and me, and he gives me his Tyler-esque speech about how unimportant I am and I tell him fuck that, we did this together.

“You don’t know nearly as much as you think you do about you and me.”

The space monkeys are gone. Maybe they’d never been there to begin with.

Fuck you, Fuck Marla, Fuck this I’m sick of this shit. He smiles at that, and it looks like he’s been smiling the whole time, like the expression was meant for his face.

“You think you know what you want but you have no goddamned idea.” Suddenly he throws his arms up and folds them, looking at me expectantly.

I want you to take the fucking wheel!

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, now stop fucking around, Tyler-Tyler!”

I felt my body swerve before the car, my head smashing against the glass of the window with the same impact as the way I smashed that blonde fucker’s face against the ground in the basement. _Slam. Blood. Slam._ The palm of my hand ached with the phantom pain the memory brought with it, and I smiled, despite the stabbing of glass shards through my temple, and the blood pouring down my face, and the knowledge I was probably about to die. Because through it all, at least I got to beat that pretty little fucking face to a pulp before oblivion took me.

The impact with the guardrail jolted my entire being, but I was numb to the pain. I felt my eyes closed as my body thrashed around in my seat, and as the car finally came to a halt, apart from the sizzling in the engine that was signposted by smoke form the bonnet, all I could hear was Tyler’s chuckling, as if he were a fourteen year old kid that had just seen his first porn magazine. He pulled me back into my seat from which I was half folded over by fisting two of his hands in my shirt and dragging me upward by them, but it was as if he was holding me by my mind, by every thought running through his head and every breath my lungs gulped painfully and ever memory that felt like a needle in my brain and he held them all in his fucking hands, like they existed for him to play with.

“Ha ha ha, yeah! We just had a near life experience!” Tyler was screaming, and the wind howled through the cracks and the gaps in the panes of the window. He was still holding on to me.

“Are you still done with my shit? Huh? You want out? Your suitcase is in the trunk, you’re done, then take it and get the fuck out.” He looked at me, and the damage on his face wasn’t as bad as mine, but the cuts looked more out of place on him than the trickling blood did on me.

“Take your vibrating fucking suitcase, take your fucking Calvin Klein’s and fuck off!” He was shouting, or as close as Tyler got to shouting at me. It wasn’t so much yelling as it was so intense that his voice got louder and louder without either of us actually noticing until I could feel little slaps of spit in my face and then I noticed.

I kept quiet.

“No? Then why are you trying to murder one of our best trainees, asshole?” He was still holding on to me.

“I…” I couldn’t help the upturning of the corners of my mouth. _Slam. Blood. Slam. Blood. Slam. Blood._

“You’re actin’ psychotic, Ikea boy.” He was still holding on to me. He was tightening his hold on my shirt, and he was looking me dead in the eye with that disappointed look that I hated so much and the wind was so cold and I wasn’t remotely ready for the word that next came out his mouth.

“What, you jealous or something? ‘Cause I told him he did a good job?” My mouth felt dry even as copper blood slipped past my lips and through my teeth and onto my tongue.

“What are you talking about- I- Of course I’m not-I-wh-”

“Jesus, don’t have a panic attack.” He was laughing at me, but I couldn’t even defend myself-I sounded pathetic to my own ears. “Now, what I really don’t get is why the fuck you’re jealous of the kid considering how much of a little bitch you’ve been about Project Mayhem from the start-he wanted the gig, you didn’t, what you change your mind? You want to help with the assign-”

“I didn’t like you touching him, alright?” Somehow, it felt like he was taunting me, forcing my confession when he already knew it, missing the mark on purpose so I would have to hit it for him. He was goading me and I fell for it within seconds. And he was still holding on to me, and he was still looking me dead in the eyes, and I couldn’t rip mine off of his for long enough to see if he was actually smirking or if that was just how his eyes made it look.

“Why didn’t you want me to touch him.”

I don’t know, I say. What else can I say? He’s still holding on to me but he shakes me, hard, and he holds on to my wrist and my shirt harder.

“The Truth. Why. Didn’t. You. Want. Me. To. Touch. Him.” There wasn’t a question in the words, not the first time or the second time he said them.

The first rule of project Mayhem is you don’t ask questions.

Tyler was commanding me, and when I looked at his eyes they looked black, and the wind stopped crying and blowing at me and there was nothing, nothing but Tyler.

Why didn’t I want him to touch that blonde parasite again?

Oh yeah, because I wanted him to touch me. No one else, just me. Not Marla, not Angel face, not anyone. I wanted him to be my own personal stress ball, that I could keep locked away from the world and hidden and just for me to play with and squeeze and do whatever the hell I wanted to whenever I wanted, and that certainly didn’t include sharing him with that worthless bleached cockroach.

“Say it.”

No. If he knows then I don’t need to say it. He’s toying with me.

“You’re damn right, now say, it,”

No. _No_. He’s playing with me. _You’re toying with me_.

He yanked me to him, our faces, our skin, marred with blood and gashes and stitches and holes in my cheeks and burst blood vessels on his head and our lips and noses and eyes only an inch apart.

“Say it or I’ll break you instead of playing with you.” His voice was so dark. Everything about Tyler went dark when he didn’t get his way, he could encase me in darkness when he wanted to; could envelope the whole world into utter blackness for the rest of eternity is he so chooses.

I looked into his eyes and tried to retreat into my cave in the ice of his eyes.

I don’t want you to touch him…because I want you to, to-

“Listen to yourself, blubbering like a fuckin’ schoolgirl. Pathetic.” He was still holding on to me, he was still in my face and I realised I should be able to feel his breath with mine, I should be able to see him breath, but I could only feel my own breath bounce off of his mouth and back onto mine, damp and hot. The look in his eyes was something close to pity, but it wasn’t, because Tyler couldn’t feel pity. He pulled his head away and let out a noise of frustration that was somewhere between a sigh and a growl, before I saw his forehead slam against the bridge of my bloody nose and he smashed his lips against mine in what really couldn’t be described as a kiss. I felt his teeth and his tongue mesh with mine clunkily and I am frozen, cannot move for the paralysing fear that tainted my confusion and overrode the burning want I’d been repressing for the months I’d known him.

I am Jack’s banal arousal.

He stopped his invasion of my mouth and let go of me for the first time in what felt like years, throw me against the leather seat.

“What…what is this?”

“Stop pretending. You can’t be scared of me. You can’t do anything except helplessly want, but be too afraid to ask. You can’t even ask if I tell you that you can have, because you’re weak, and pathetic, and nothing, and that’s why you need me.”

I know he’s right, I know I want him, but I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, and I don’t know what I actually do want him for and-

“You know exactly how you want me, so why can’t you just SAY IT? Huh?” Had I been speaking out loud this whole time?

“You don’t need to, idiot. I’m always there, whether you want me to be or not, I know whatever I want to know about you, because you’re whatever I want you to be.” I didn’t know when he had taken hold of me again, gripping at the back of my neck with inexplicably talon-like nails.

How can you know what I’m thinking? How can you fucking play me like an instrument when I barely know the first thing about you? This isn’t fair, I say, like a petulant child, because I feel like one, as alone and confused and bitter about life as one.

“Nothing’s fucking fair! That’s the point, you piece of shit,” He ripped me up and off my chair with the strength of Godzilla and I was in his lap, my neck craned uncomfortably to fit under the roof designed so clearly only for one person.

“Now does it matter how I can read your worthless thoughts, or do you want me to fuck you until you can’t think at all?”

I am Jack’s complete inability to form a single syllable.

And all I can do is hope it’s not a trick, because for once it doesn’t feel like one, so I nod franticly, pride be damned, and he slams his own head against the head rest.

“Say the words or I swear to god, I’ll hurt you in ways you can’t imagine,” he whispers, one hand around my neck, one hand slowly travelling down my collarbones, chest, stomach, undoing my pants, pubic bone, his hand is on my cock, squeezing, tight, tight, tighter-

“I’ll make sure you can never feel your own cock again, I’ll emasculate you, and I’ll take my sweet time with it.”

‘I want it! Fuck, you win, I want it. The constricting hand around my dick had breeched the barrier of painful a good six days ago.

“Want…what?” the hand was ripped away to meet the other and wrap around my throat and I could feel my nerve endings screaming at the loss of pressure.

Fuck, Tyler, Please, I want you, I need you, fuck me, fuck me so hard I can’t think straight, please, I babble like a crazy person, and he’s looking down on me even though he’s below me, and the amusement in his eyes is so childish I don’t know what to do with it.

“Now…” his hand is travelling down again and my breath catches. “Was that so hard?” His fingers are warm and sweaty and he tugs on my cock torturously, and it’s so good but miles away from good enough.

“I want to take you apart…piece, by, piece.” Then stop talking about it and do it, I wanted to scream at him, and he just maintained that damn smirk on his face and he reached the hand that wasn’t gripping my dick behind me, beside me, I couldn’t open my eyes long enough to tell, to the glove box, and retrieved lube that looked like the face of God in my current predicament.

“I’m not that much of an asshole,”

It’s hard to tell with you sometimes, I say. It earns me a beamingly proud smile.

It happens in a blur of panic and pain that’s fed into the pleasure he’s throwing at me, but he has two fingers in me and I can’t find the words to describe how hot and intense and good the agony is. He’s still stroking me and biting my neck, and I can hear moaning for minutes on end before I realise he’s not making the sound, so they must be my own. He moves his fingers deeper and he’s dragging them as if he were telling me to come here, and he prods at what must have been my prostate because it makes my body feel like every internal organ has just aligned for the first time in my life. I cry out and his breath comes out harshly enough he must be laughing at me.

F-fuck, Tyler, it’s so much, I say, because it is, and the bite of the stretch is ever present through the blinding pressure inside me. He doesn’t reply and I want to open my legs wider on top of him but I can’t because of the pathetic chinos Tyler didn’t even bother to take down to my knees. I don’t know what I want but I want more of it than I’m getting, and the harsh blow of wind to my back is greatly appreciated because I felt like I was about to combust of heat.

His fingers begin to scissor apart and the noise that’s ripped from me gets gurgled in my throat. Fuck, I breathe after I choke down my own pain. Please, I say, and he knows what I’m asking for better than I do.

“Does it hurt?” His voice is against my throat and I don’t know how I hear it, and I can only nod in response for a lack of trust in my own voice.

“Want more?” He knows I do, and he’s playing with me again and I can’t tell if I actually hate it or if I tell myself I do to make myself feel better. He laughs in that maniacal way he does that I don’t even know how to imitate, and I can feel him looking at me through closed eyes, and the second I open them I feel him pushing a third finger into my ass. I see my own face scrunching up and he’s smirking at me again and I want to punch him more than I want to kiss him but either will do if it means I don’t have to see his stupid, stupid face in my mind’s eye, so I connect our faces and he takes control of it like I wanted him to. It feels like he’s holding my face even though he’s not, because one of his hands is fingering me open and the other is still wrapped around my cock. I moan into the kiss and have to break it halfway to its completion so I can breathe through the burn in my ass, and I fist his shirt and the noise my mind lags in registering it as my own was pitiful and animal-like. He’s fucking me with his fingers, in and out and in and out and in and out at a brutal pace and he’s laughing at me because it’s too quick for me to even catch my breathe.

It’s too much, Tyler, I tell him through the shakes of my body and my words, I can’t, Tyler, please, please, please, I plead. My hands ache and there are lights passing us in quick succession, the rain is hard and I’m everywhere and nowhere all at the same time.

“Shut up, you can take it. Stop pretending you don’t like this, you fucking love this, you like the pain. You’re so fucked up you can’t get off without it hurting, without me,”

 _Tyler,_ both of us knew what I was saying in the word that to anyone else would have only be his name, and both of us knew what he was saying in the look he gave me that to anyone else would be a cross parent telling off a child. I felt the pressure building, the happy buzz bursting through the cracks of soreness all throughout my body, I’m going to come.

“No,” the hand that was steadily caressing along my cock jerked downward and his vice-like grip on the base of me felt like a damn sandbag trying to stop a dam overflowing, but it fucking worked nonetheless and I wanted to murder him, take his tanned little fucking throat in my hands and squeeze the life out of him and then jerk off over his dead fucking body like the sick freak he makes me into. “You’re fucking not.” He tells me and I can feel tears sting at my eyes and I don’t even know what part of the whole thing had me crying.

“You’re not coming until ‘m inside you ‘n you think you’re gonna die if you don’t. You get to come when I say so, bitch.” I slam one hand against the already smashed window, and the glass shards that plant themselves in my hand make me feel better.

Then can you get on with it and fuck me? I spit at him, gritted teeth should have made it impossible for him to hear me but nevertheless he smiled, and he took his hand off my dick and his fingers out of me, and I lurch forward at the unsteady loss and feel the first tear stroll down my cheek. He tells me not to be such a baby, and all I can do is bite my lip to stop myself from trying to kill him, or telling him to stop, or screaming at him, or any of the hundred other things going through my mind. He grips me with bruising hands and lifts me enough to rip my pants to my ankles, and I kick them off to the floor, hitting the pedals like he expects me to, and he grabs my legs and puts them across either side of his hips, and they’re digging into parts of the car I can’t even name but I don’t care enough to move. He doesn’t bother getting undressed, just unzips and pulls out his erection that’s sickeningly thick and of course bigger and better than mine in every way, because what else would I expect?

He doesn’t put anymore lube on, he just strokes himself with the hand that had just been inside me, and it shouldn’t turn me on more, like a pathetic teenager getting fingered in some guy’s car and falling in love with him and pining after him for weeks. That was how pathetic I was, how pathetic he made me.

He leans close to my ear, and whispers, “Put my cock in your ass,” and I do, and I can’t even get the whole of his head in without stopping to breathe and pant and cry in my own agony, my throbbing hole begging me to stop.

I knew what he was going to do a millisecond before he did it, and I really should have seen it coming, but as he thrust his fucking gargantuan cock into me I wailed. I knew what he was saying, and I knew he was right, but it didn’t stop the tears, it didn’t stop the feeling like I was being ripped in half, like lightning striking from my what must have been bleeding hole up my back and into my brain. Everything went black for a minute, even the feeling, and I think I’d take lye and spit over this any day of the week, and he’s just there, under me, smiling. Like the fucking lunatic he is.

I fucking hate you, I say, and he laughs again, and tells me I don’t. And he’s goddamn right that I don’t and it’s infuriating. And he pulls out to the head before slamming back in and I am screaming, and I think it’s to stop, I hope it’s to stop, but I know it isn’t, I know I want it, I know I want all of it, and he knows that just as well.

“This what you wanted?” He ends the question that wasn’t looking for an answer with a deeper thrust than before and I didn’t even have the strength to wail anymore. “Tried to fucking kill the kid ‘cause you want me all for yourself? You don’t want anyone else to be my bitch, huh? Only you?” All I can do is whimper and shake in his arms like a damn dog. He had literally made me into his little bitch.

“Look at me.” And what else am I supposed to do. He looks at me with equal parts disgust and affection as he wipes my tear tracked face, never stopping or even slowing down the pace he’s fucking me at.

“You’re mine. You’ll always be mine. I’ll always own you, I’ll always have you wherever I want you. I can have anything, and I choose you to have. So if you, ever, fuck up one of those worthless fuckers, I’ll make this hurt a lot more than this, until you can’t handle, and I won’t even let you come afterwards.” I’m nodding, nodding along like I know what he’s saying and I understand, and a part of me does, because its flaring with warmth in my chest, and he puts a hand on my cock again and another on my face and it smells of sex and leather and apple.

“You ever doubt me and what I’ve done for you, what I am to you, for you, and you won’t enjoy it. I’ll use you and I will-fucking look at me-I will break you.” He doesn’t even sound out of breath as he pulls me closer to him and hits that spot inside me that turns me into jelly and he starts jerking me off perfectly, thumbing the slit of my dick like its an artefact and it’s the best thing I’ve ever felt, and everywhere is white hot and tingling and I don’t think I’ve ever been more overwhelmed, enveloped in nothing but Tyler, Tyler, Tyler.

I’m begging him, I know, but I’m too far away in my own head to stop, to modulate or even decipher the words I’m saying. I’m watching myself, watching him, through a TV screen in my mind. I’m telling him that I can’t, that it’s too much, that I need to come and I can’t- _pleasepleasepleaseplease_.

“Come on, clever boy. Use your clever words.”

Tyler, Tyler, please, I can’t hold on, please let me, I’m your bitch, I’m whatever you want, Tyler I’ll do anything-fuckfuck-please Tyler, please.

He’s laughing and my hands hurt and I’m crying and the wind is howling and he just says,

“Do it, let go.”

And I’m moaning and there’s some swear words in there as well, mostly his name, mostly shaky weak cries of pleasure as I feel like my balls burst with the sheer force of it, and it is the most intense thing I’ve ever felt, and I can’t tell if it’s like dying or if it’s like being reborn. This is the white-hot ball of healing light they talk about, this is why Chloe wanted to get laid before she died, this is the moment of perfection that was all I could ask for, this was everything.

I’m Jack’s mind shattering orgasm.

I assumed that I blacked out after, or maybe during, because when I wake up it’s to a police officer politely knocking on my window and telling me to move because they’ve had complaints, asking if I’m alright, sir, if I need any assistance, sir, what happened, sir. I roll up my window to find Tyler gone, gone without a trace. I see the case I lost at Dulles ripped open and a shiny purple dildo in the backseat, wet and shining in the harsh morning light. I know he’s not here, I know he won’t come back, not until he wants to, and I sigh and close my eyes, and I imagine him sitting with me. I keep my eyes closed, keep my vision of him in my mind as I turn the keys in the ignition and start the car, and I imagine him smiling at me, and I smile back, and he’s gone, even from my head, as quick as he came, leaving me with nothing but the smell of sex and sore, sticky fingers and the totalled car and the dildo in the backseat.

**Author's Note:**

> Being tired isn’t the same as being rich, but most times it’s close enough. -Chuck Palahnuik
> 
> Thanks for reading if anyone did, I will be eternally happy if I get any comments on this fic.


End file.
